But one resource was left: to warn Mr. S------ of his peril. This was
not so easy a task as might appear. To make my story believed, I should
be obliged to compromise Miss Calhoun, and Mr. S------‘s well-known
chivalry, as far as women are concerned, would make the communication
difficult on my part, if not absolutely impossible. I, however,
determined to attempt it, though I could not but wish I were an older
man, with public repute to back me.
Though there was but little in Mr. S------‘s public life which I did not
know, I had little or no knowledge of his domestic relations beyond the
fact that he was a widower with one child. I did not even know where he
lived. But inquiry at police headquarters soon settled that, and in half
an hour after leaving the doctor’s office I was at his home.
It was a large, old-fashioned dwelling, of comfortable aspect; too
comfortable, I thought, for the shadow of doom, which, in my eyes,
overlay its cheerful front, wide-open doors and windows. How should I
tell my story here! What credence could I expect for a tale so gruesome,
within walls warmed by so much sunshine and joy. None, possibly; but my
story must be told for all that.
Ringing the bell hurriedly, I asked for Mr. S------. He was out of town.
This was my first check. When would he be home? The answer gave me some
hope, though it seemed to increase my difficulties. He would be in the
city by eight, as he had invited a large number of guests to his house
for the evening. Beyond this, I could learn nothing.
Returning immediately to Miss Calhoun, I told her what had occurred,
and tried to impress upon her the necessity I felt of seeing Mr. S------
that night. She surveyed me like a woman in a dream. Twice did I have
to repeat my words before she seemed to take them in; then she turned
hurriedly, and going to a little desk standing in one corner of the
room, drew out a missive, which she brought me. It was an invitation to
this very reception which she had received a week before.
“I will get you one,” she whispered. “But don’t speak to him, don’t tell
him without giving me some warning. I will not be far from you. I think
I will have strength for this final hour.”
“God grant that your sacrifice may bear fruit,” I said, and left her.
To enter, on such an errand as mine, a brilliantly illuminated house
odoriferous with flowers and palpitating with life and music, would
be hard for any man. It was hard for me. But in the excitement of the
occasion, aggravated as it was by a presage of danger not only to myself
but to the woman I had come so near loving, I experienced a calmness,
such as is felt in the presence of all mortal conflicts. I made sure
that this was reflected in my face before leaving the dressing-room, and
satisfied that I would not draw the attention of others by too much or
too little color, I descended to the drawing-room and into the presence
of my admired host.
I had expected to confront a handsome man, but not of the exact type
that he presented. There was a melancholy in his expression I had not
foreseen, mingled with an attraction from which I could not escape after
my first hurried glimpse of his features across the wide room. No other
man in the room had it to so great a degree, nor was there any other
who made so determined an effort to throw off care and be simply the
agreeable companion. Could it be that any other warning had forestalled
mine, or was this his habitual manner and expression? Finding no
answer to this question, I limited myself to the duty of the hour, and
advancing as rapidly as possible through the ever-increasing throng,
waited for the chance to speak to him for one minute alone. Meantime, I
satisfied myself that the two detectives sent from police headquarters
were on hand. I recognized them among a group of people at the door.
Whether intentionally or not, Mr. S ------ had taken up his stand before
the conservatory, and as in my endeavors to reach him I approached
within sight of this place, I perceived the face of Miss Calhoun shining
from amid its greenery, and at once remembered the promise I had
made her. She was looking for me, and, meeting my eyes, made me an
imperceptible gesture, to which I felt bound to respond.
Slipping from the group with which I was advancing, I stole around to
a side door towards which she had pointed, and in another moment found
myself at her side. She was clothed in velvet, which gave to her cheek
and brow the colorlessness of marble.
“He is not as ignorant of his position as we thought,” said she. “I have
been watching him for an hour. He is in anticipation of something. This
will make our task easier.”
“You have said nothing,” I suggested.
“No, no; how could I?”
“Perhaps the detectives I saw there have told him.”
“Perhaps; but they cannot know the whole.”
“No, or our words would be unnecessary.”
“Mr. Abbott,” said she, with feverish volubility, “do not try to
tell him yet; wait for a few minutes till I have gained a little
self-possession, a little command over myself; but no--that may be
to risk his life--do not wait a moment--go now, go now, only----” She
started, stumbled and fell back into a low seat under a spreading palm.
“He is coming here. Do not leave me, Mr. Abbott; step back there behind
those plants. I cannot trust myself to face him all alone.”
I did as she bade me. Mr. S----, with a smile on his face--the first I
had seen there--came in and walked with a quick step and a resolved
air up to Miss Calhoun, who endeavored to rise to meet him. But she was
unable, which involuntary sign of confusion seemed to please him.
“Irene,” said he, in a tone that made me start and wish I had not been
so amenable to her wishes, “I thought I saw you glide in here, and my
guests being now all arrived, I have ventured to steal away for a moment,
just to satisfy the craving which has been torturing me for the last
hour. Irene, you are pale; you tremble like an aspen. Have I frightened
you by my words--too abrupt, perhaps, considering the reserve that has
always been between us until now. Didn’t you know that I loved you? that
for the last month--ever since I have known you, indeed--I have had but
the one wish, to make you my wife?”
“Good God!” I saw the words on her lips rather than heard them. She
seemed to be illumined and overwhelmed at once. “Mr. S------,” said
she, trying to be brave, trying to address him with some sort of
self-possession,
“I did not expect--I had no right to expect this honor from you. I
am not worthy--I have no right to hear such words from your lips.
Besides----” She could go no further; perhaps he did not let her.
“Not worthy--you!” There was infinite sadness in his tone. “What do you
think I am, then? It is because you are so worthy, so much better than
I am or can ever be, that I want you for my wife. I long for the
companionship of a pure mind, a pure hand----”
“Mr. S------” (she had risen, and the resolve in her face made her
beauty shine out transcendently), “I have not the pure mind, the pure
hand you ascribe to me. I have meddled with matters few women could
even conceive of. I am a member--a repentant member, to be sure--of an
organization which slights the decrees of God and places the aims of a
few selfish souls above the rights of man, and----”
He had stooped and was kissing her hand.
“You need not go on,” he whispered; “I quite understand. But you will be
my wife?”
Aghast, white as the driven snow, she watched him with dilating eyes
that slowly filled with a great horror.
“Understand!--_you understand!_ Oh, what does that mean? _Why_ should
you understand?”
“Because”--his voice sunk to a whisper, but I heard it, as I would have
recognized his thought had he not spoken at that moment--“because I
am the chief of the organization you mention. Irene, now you have _my_
secret.”
I do not think she uttered a sound, but I heard the dying cry of her
soul in her very silence. He may have heard it, too, for his look showed
sudden and unfathomable pity.
“This is a blow to you,” he said. “I do not wonder; there _is_ something
hateful in the fact; latterly I have begun to realize it. That is why
I have allowed myself to love. I wanted some relief from my thoughts.
Alas! I did not know that a full knowledge of your noble soul would only
emphasize them. But this is no talk for a ballroom. Cheer up, darling,
and----”
“Wait!” She had found strength to lay her hand on his arm. “Did you know
that a man was condemned to-day?”
His face took on a shade of gloom.
“Yes,” he bowed, casting an anxious look towards the room from which
came the mingled sounds of dance and merriment. “The bell which
announces the fact rang during my absence. I did not know there was a
name before the society.”
She crouched, covering her face with her hands. I think she was afraid
her emotion would escape her in a cry. But in an instant they had
dropped again, and she was panting in his ear:
“You are the chief and are not acquainted with these matters of life
and death? Traitors are these men and women to you--traitors! jealous of
your influence and your power!”
He looked amazed; he measured the distance between himself and the
door and turned to ask her what she meant, but she did not give him the
opportunity.
“Do you know,” she asked, “the name of the person for whom the bell rang
to-day?”
He shook his head. “I am expecting a messenger with it any moment,” said
he, looking towards the rear of the conservatory. “Is it any one who is
here to-night?”
The gasp she gave might have been heard in the other room. Language and
motion seemed both to fail her, and I thought I should have to go to
her rescue. But before I could move, I heard the click of a latch at
the rear of the conservatory, and saw, peering through the flowers and
plants, the wicked face of the man with the receding forehead whom I had
seen at madame’s, and in his arms he held THE BOX.
It was a shock which sent me further into concealment. Mr. S----, on the
contrary, looked relieved. Exclaiming, “Ah, he has come!” he went to
the door leading into the drawing-room, locked it, took out the key and
returned to meet the stealthy, advancing figure.
The latter presented a picture of malignant joy, horrible to
contemplate. The lips of his large mouth were compressed and bloodless.
He came on with the quiet certainty and deadly ease of a slimy thing
sure of its prey.
As I noted him I felt that not only Mr. S----‘s life but my own was not
worth a moment’s purchase. But I uttered no cry and scarcely breathed.
Miss Calhoun, on the contrary, gave vent to a long, shivering sigh. The
man bowed as he heard it, but with looks directed solely to Mr. S----.
“I was told,” said he, “to deliver this box to you wherever and with
whomsoever I should find you. In it you will find _the name._”
Mr. S---- gazed in haughty astonishment, first at the box and then at
the man.
“This is irregular,” said he. “Why was I not made acquainted with the
fact that a name was up for consideration, and why have you removed the
box from its place and broken the connection which was made with so much
difficulty?”
As he said this he looked up through the glass of the conservatory to a
high building I could see towering at the end of the garden. It was the
building in which I had first seen that box, and I now understood how
this connection had been made.
Mr. S----‘s movement had been involuntary.
Dropping his eyes, he finished by saying, with an almost imperceptible
bow, “You may speak before this lady; she is the holder of a key.”
“The connection was broken because suspicion was aroused; to your other
question you will find an answer in the box. Shall I open it for you?”
Mr. S------, with a stern frown, shook his head, and produced a key
from his pocket. “Do you understand all this?” he suddenly asked Miss
Calhoun.
For reply, she pointed to the box.
“Open!” her beseeching looks seemed to say.
Mr. S---- turned the key and threw up the lid. “Look under the hand,”
suggested the man.
Mr. S---- leaned over the box, which had been laid on a small table,
discovered a paper somewhere in its depth, and drew it out. It was no
whiter than his face when he did so.
“How many have subscribed to this?” he asked.
“You will observe that there are five rings on the hand,” responded the
man.
Miss Calhoun started, opened her lips, but paused as she saw Mr. S----
unfold the paper.
“The name of the latest traitor,” murmured the man, with a look of
ferocity the like of which I had never seen on any human face before.
It was not observed by either of the actors in the tragedy before
me. Mr. S---- was gazing with a wild incredulity at the note he had
unfolded; she was gazing at him. From the room beyond rose and swelled
the sweet strains of the waltz.
Suddenly a low, crackling sound was heard.
It came from the paper which Mr. S---- had crumpled in his hand.
“So the society has decreed my death,” he said, meeting the man’s
steel-cold eye for the first time. “Now I know how the men whose doom
preceded mine have felt in a presence that leaves no hope to mortal man.
But _you_ shall not be _my_ executioner. I will meet my fate at less
noxious hands than yours.” And, leaning forward, he whispered a
few seemingly significant words into the messenger’s ear. The man,
grievously disappointed, hung his head, and with a sidelong look, the
venom of which made us all shudder, he hesitated to go.
“To-night?” he said.
“To-night,” Mr. S---- repeated, and pointed towards the door by which
he had entered. Then, as the man still hesitated, he took him by the arm
and resolutely led him through the conservatory, crying in his ear, “Go.
I am still the chief.”
The man bowed, and slipped slowly out into the night.
A burst of music, laughter, voices, joy, rose in the drawing-room. Mr.
S---- and Irene Calhoun stood looking at each other.
“You must go home,” were the first words he uttered. Then, in a
half-reproachful, half-pitiful tone, as if on the verge of tears, he
added: “Was I so bad a chief that even you thought me a hindrance to the
advancement of the society and the cause to which we are pledged?”
It was the one thing he could say capable of rousing her.
“Oh!” she cried, “it is all a mistake, all a cheat. Did you not get the
letter I sent to my chief this morning, written in the usual style and
directed in the usual way?”
“No,” he answered.
“Then there is worse treason than yours among the five. I wrote to
say that my ring had been stolen; that I did not subscribe to the
condemnation of the man under suspicion, and that, if it was made, it
would be through fraud. That was before I knew that the suspected one
and the man I addressed were one and the same. Now----”
“Well, now?”
“You have but to accuse the woman called Madame. The man you have just
sent away would forgive you his disappointment if you gave him the
supreme satisfaction of carrying doom to the still more formidable
being who prophesies death to those for whom she has already prepared a
violent end.”
“Irene!”
But her passion had found vent and she was not to be stilled. Telling
him the whole story of the last twenty-four hours, she waited for the
look of comfort she evidently expected. But it did not come. His first
words showed why.
“Madame is inexorable,” said he; “but Madame is but one of five. There
are three others--true men, sound men, thinking men. If they deem
me unworthy--and I have shown signs of faltering of late--Madame’s
animosity or your loving weakness must not stand in the way of their
decree. It shall never be said I sanctioned the doom of other men and
shrank from my own. I would be unworthy of your love if I did, and your
love is everything to me now.” She had not expected this; she had not at
all reckoned upon the stern quality in this man, forgetting that without
it he could never have held his pitiless position.
“But it is not regular; it is not according to precedent. Five rings are
required, and only four were fairly placed. As an honest man, you ought
to hesitate at injustice, and injustice you will show if you allow them
to triumph through their own deceit.”
But even this failed to move him.
“I see five rings,” said he, “and I see another thing. Never will I be
permitted to live even if I am coward enough to take advantage of the
loophole of escape you offer me. A man who is once seen to tremble loses
the confidence of such men as call me _chief_. I would die suddenly,
horribly and perhaps when less prepared for it than now. And you,
my darling, my imperial one! you would not escape. Besides, you have
forgotten the young man who, with such unselfishness, has lent himself
to your schemes in my favor. What could save him if I disappointed the
malignancy of Madame. No; I have destroyed others, and must submit to
the penalty incurred by murder. Kiss me, Irene, and go. I command it as
your chief.”
With a low moan she gave up the struggle. Lifting her forehead to his
embrace, she bestowed upon him a look of indescribable despair, then
tottered to the door leading into the garden. As it closed upon her
departing figure, he uttered a deep sigh, in which he seemed to give up
life and the world. Then he raised his head, and in an instant was in
the midst of a throng of beautiful women and dashing men, with a smile
on his lips and a jest on his tongue.
I made my escape unnoticed. The next morning I was in Philadelphia.
There I read the following lines in the leading daily:
“Baltimore, Md.--An unexpected tragedy occurred here last evening.
Mr. S----, the well-known financier and politician, died at his
supper-table, while drinking the health of a hundred assembled guests.
He is considered to be a great loss to the Southern cause. The city is
filled with mourning.”
And further down, in an obscure corner, this short line:
“Baltimore, Md.--A beautiful young woman, known by the name of Irene
Calhoun, was found dead in her bed this morning, from the effects of
poison administered by herself. No cause is ascribed for the act.”